


Sansa's Swan Lake

by orphan_account



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-09-23
Updated: 2013-10-01
Packaged: 2017-12-27 10:43:07
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 6,255
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/977827
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Modern day AU<br/>Sandor is working as a security guard at a ballet studio, where the company is putting on Swan Lake. He finds himself curious about the mysterious lead girl, who he nicknames 'the little bird', and her relationship with their manager, Petyr Baelish.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Fluttering Feathers

Sandor Clegane stood at the back, his arms crossed while he watched a flurry of white and pink go past, the sound of a piano tuning up floated across the room. He had been working there for a week now but Sandor still wasn’t sure whether a ballet studio was his thing. He had worked security at various companies and events before but this was a first.

The floor where the company rehearsed was the highest, with large windows and mirrors covering the walls. The sound of laughter filled the air and the girls ran about the room as they got ready for their rehearsal; chatting as they warmed up and adjusted their hair. They were to perform Swan Lake in a few weeks time at a local city theatre and the company had gained a popular reputation. 

Sandor found the girl he had nicknamed ‘little bird’, who was to play the lead, stood stretching on the wooden bar by herself. She had her auburn hair piled into a bun on her head and she wore a white leotard and her tutu was made of white feathers, which would flutter to the ground whenever she danced. The little bird had a graceful air about her and had a slender body, but there was something almost melancholic about the way she held herself and moved. 

The manager came over to her presently and spoke to the little bird as he traced his fingertips across her arm in a way that made Sandor’s skin crawl. The pay here was good, the main reason Sandor had stayed, but he couldn’t stand the manager, Petyr Baelish. He was a cunning and clever man yet the way he fawned over the girl all the time made Sandor feel uneasy. The little bird never said a word against it though, nor did she flinch away. She simply looked elsewhere with dull eyes and Sandor wondered whether she had grown used to it, grown to ignore it. The other girls kept their distance from her, believing her to be the manager’s favourite, so the little bird kept to herself. Baelish called her ‘Alayne’, yet Sandor got the strange feeling that wasn’t her name. 

Sandor watched as the other dancers assembled behind the little bird who kept her eyes on the floor, taking deep breaths. The piano song floated under her feet as the girl twirled, her body controlled and smooth. A flurry of white feathers were swept into the air as she leapt across the floor, her expression almost afraid as she spun in a tight circle. 

Suddenly her ankle shot out from under her and the girl shrieked as she fell to the floor. Sandor took a step forward to see if she was alright, but thought better of it and stayed where he was. 

The girl bit her lip, curling her leg towards her protectively as the piano music stopped and Petyr Baelish rushed forward and scolded her, but kissed her forehead while the little bird clutched her ankle in pain.

For the rest of the rehearsal, the little bird sat out, seeming disinterested in everything else as she stared out of the window at the clouds drifting past. Sandor could sympathise with the girl, throughout his life he had kept to the shadows, avoiding contact and relationships when he could, leading a solitary life. However Sandor now found himself growing curious about the mysterious silent girl who danced across the floor like a ghost.

 

That evening Sandor was finishing his patrol of the building and reached the top floor, to find the little bird sat on the ground looking out of the window as she had been that afternoon. She was wearing a loose white shirt over a pair of grey leggings and Sandor saw her ankle was bandaged up. 

Sandor walked into the room hesitantly and the girl looked up, surprised.

“I didn’t mean to scare you,” he said in his rasping voice.

“It’s ok,” the girl replied.

Sandor clenched his hands into fists then loosened them. He took a step towards her.

“How’s the ankle?” He asked.

“Better,” she said with a faint smile.

There was an awkward silence for a few moments and the only noise was the sound of cars driving past outside. 

“You can sit down if you want,” the girl said.

Sandor scratched his head. He saw no harm in it so he sat down, facing her, his arms outstretched behind him. 

“What’s your name?” The little bird asked.

“Sandor,” he replied. “I do the security here.”

The girl nodded. “I’ve seen you here before.”

“It’s Alayne, right?” Sandor said slowly, still unsure.

Upon hearing that name, she got a strange look in her eyes. “Sansa.”

Sandor frowned. “Then why does Baelish call you Alayne?”

Sansa turned away. “He’s done a lot for me so I don’t question his actions.”

Sandor wondered whether she was referring to the way Baelish touched her so frequently, but didn’t want to ask.

“You seem like you’ve danced before,” he said, changing the subject.

“A bit, when I was younger my parents used to take me,” Sansa paused. “Then I moved here and met Mr Baelish. He’s the one that got me this job; apparently the role was perfect for me.”

Sandor chuckled. “It does suit you.”

Sansa laughed, breaking through the far away expression she always wore, and Sandor found himself happy to hear it. Suddenly she broke off, as if remembering something.  
“I need to head back; I have curfew and I should probably rest my ankle,” Sansa said, a hint of sadness appearing in her voice.

Sandor nodded and watched as the little bird attempted to stand, but her ankle gave way and she fell back with a thump. 

He grinned. “Need a hand?”

Sansa blushed. “Thank you.”

Sandor stood up and gently pulled Sansa to her feet, finding her hand soft and delicate in his. He put one arm over his shoulder and together they left the room. 

“Sorry for making you do this,” Sansa said as she hobbled down the corridor.

“You’d only go and fall down the stairs anyway, and with the show coming up it would be a bad idea,” Sandor replied. “You nervous?”

“No I’m fine,” Sansa said firmly.

Sandor raised an eyebrow. “No point in singing those songs with me, girl. Just be honest and we’ll get along fine.”

Sansa sighed. “I’m very nervous. I’m scared of Mr Baelish being disappointed with me. That would make the other girls...” she trailed off. 

By this point they had begun to descend the stairs, their footsteps echoing throughout the empty studios as they approached the entrance.

“So is he your guardian?” Sandor asked, curious.

“Something like that,” Sansa replied quietly.

Sandor frowned. “Well why don’t you just do what you want? Don’t let the others push you around like that. If they don’t like what they see, fuck them. Just be happy.”

They had reached the entrance by then and Sansa stopped and looked up at him, a flicker of hope in her eyes. She opened her mouth to say something but suddenly Petyr appeared behind her and put a firm hand on her shoulder. Sansa jumped slightly but didn’t turn around, knowing who it was.

Petyr smiled tightly at Sandor. “It seems you’ve made a friend, Alayne.”

Sansa froze, keeping her eyes down. 

Sandor stared back at the manager, his eyes cool. “Just making sure she’s alright.”

“Well,” Petyr replied. “I’ll take it from here. Come along, Alayne, we’re going home.” 

He dropped his hand to Sansa’s waist, to which Sandor narrowed his eyes, and pulled her away towards a parked car down the steps from them. She looked back at Sandor for a moment.

“See you tomorrow, little bird,” Sandor said, grinning.

Sansa blinked in surprise at the nickname but smiled, a laugh appearing in her eyes, before turning away and climbing into the car.


	2. Underneath the Mask

Sandor sat at the bar with a glass of whisky in hand. This pub was a regular haunt for him; the customers kept to themselves and weren’t bothered by others, perfect for Sandor. He rubbed his thumb against the cool glass and attempted, once more, to clear his head of Sansa. 

Since that evening last week he hadn’t been able to stop thinking about her or watching her as she danced in rehearsals. He remembered the way she had smiled at him, her hair swirling as she turned away from him. Sansa was like a ghost haunting his mind and it was driving Sandor mad. How old was she anyway?

Sandor groaned at the sudden thought, age hadn’t occurred to him before.

But then again, what were these feelings? Did he simply wish to protect her, to look out for her, or was it something more? Sandor never bothered with women or relationships, it was all too much hassle; all he had and needed was his job, his money and his drink. But now that Sansa had appeared, Sandor was no longer sure of anything. 

He then thought of the way Petyr Baelish had held Sansa by her waist and Sandor’s grip on his glass tightened. She shouldn’t have to put up with that, what gave him the right to touch her anyway?

Sandor gnawed on a loose fingernail as he continued to battle against the raging storm in his mind. The bell above the pub door jingled and a customer walked up to the bar, though Sandor ignored them.

“Can I get a glass of rosé please,” the girl asked.

Sandor froze.

He slowly turned to look up at the speaker and saw Sansa stood next to him, facing the bartender, wearing a loose fitting grey hoodie and jeans. Feeling his gaze, Sansa glanced at Sandor and squealed in surprise. 

“Hey,” Sandor said with a small laugh.

“Hi,” Sansa replied, blushing.

Sandor frowned. “Are you old enough to be in here?”

She flushed. “I’m eighteen.”

Sandor chuckled at her frustrated expression, feeling a small weight lift from his mind.

The bartender asked for ID and told Sansa the price of the drink. She pulled out her purse and fumbled inside for the money, but dropped it on the floor and the change spilt out on the ground. Her flush deepened as she scrambled to pick her money up.

Sandor turned to the bartender. “I’ll get this one.”

As the barman got Sansa’s drink, she stood up, having gathered her money together, and smiled weakly at Sandor.

“Sorry,” she said.

“Don’t mention it,” he grinned.

Sansa fiddled with her hair. “May I sit down?”

“Be my guest”.

Sansa hopped onto the stool and took her drink from the bartender, taking a sip.

“Don’t you have curfew?” Sandor asked.

Sansa shook her head. “Mr Baelish has a meeting which will last all evening so I can stay out for a bit.”

“Shouldn’t you be with your friends?” But as soon as the words had left his lips, Sandor knew the answer.

Sansa didn’t reply, but stared into her glass, as if recalling far away memories, and Sandor was sorry he had asked. 

He ran a hand through his hair and downed the rest of his drink. “So what’s your deal?”

Sansa looked at him and blinked in surprise. “My deal?”

“Well, where did you come from?” He asked.

Sansa hesitated before replying. “North.” 

Sandor laughed and scratched his forehead, knowing that was the only answer he was going to get for now. 

“What about you, what’s your story?” Sansa asked, resting her chin in her hand and taking another sip of rosé.

“You’re better off not knowing, girl”. 

“Well then,” Sansa pouted slightly. “Looks like we’re going to have a rather odd friendship.”

Sandor grinned. “Looks that way.”

It seemed to him that Sansa had begun to relax around him and he’d be lying if he said it didn’t make him a bit happy. Sandor was pleased with the noticeable difference in her interaction with him when compared to her actions around Baelish.

Sansa drunk the rest of her rosé and placed the glass carefully back on the bar top. “I had better go; Mr Baelish is probably getting back soon.”

Sandor felt a sudden rush of panic as she stood up to leave. “Want me to walk you home?”

A smile spread across Sansa’s face. “Sure.”

Sandor grabbed his coat and the two of them walked out of the pub, the bell jingling as they closed the door behind them. 

“Where do you live?” Sandor asked as they began to walk down the road.

“About ten minutes away,” Sansa replied. “We can cut through the park.”

As they walked, Sandor realised that he wanted to ask Sansa more about her and Baelish’s situation, but thought it best to leave it alone; she had her reasons and he didn’t want to upset her.

The evening air was cool and the sky was growing dark, the lampposts illuminating the path in front of them. They reached the park in no time and the whole place was silent; the trees swaying in the wind. They came across a large lake that rippled with silver light from the moon.

Sansa smiled, her breath a white cloud in the autumn air. “It’s just like in the play.”

She giggled and skipped away from Sandor, flinging her arms out as she did so. Sansa twirled in front of the lake, her red hair fluttering behind her as she laughed. Sandor stood transfixed as he watched her dance under the moonlight and felt the hairs on his arms stand up.

Eventually Sansa came to a stop and sat down on the lake’s edge, breathless. Sandor walked towards the lake and stood in front of her. 

“What did you think?” Sansa asked, laughing.  
Sandor nodded, remembering the way her body looked as though it had been dipped in silver light as she twirled. Wordlessly he offered her hand, which she took, pulling Sansa to her feet.

“You should- You should come and see the show,” Sansa said, blushing slightly. 

“When is it?” Sandor asked as they continued to walk.

“Next week.”

“Maybe I will.”

“I hope you do,” Sansa said shyly.

Sandor turned away, grinning to himself.

They continued down the path and watched as tiny moths fluttered around the lights above.

Suddenly they heard a chorus of drunken male laughter rounding the corner towards them and Sandor saw Sansa bring her arms around her waist, almost protectively. As the men began to come towards them, Sandor put his arm around Sansa’s shoulder, pulling her closer to him. He could smell her sweet perfume and felt her fragile body under his touch. The men walked past them without so much of a glance and Sandor dropped his arm, slightly reluctantly, once they were out of view.

“Thank you,” Sansa said, laughing nervously.

They turned onto a road with rows of large houses on either side. They continued a little further until they reached one of the biggest houses; it had a huge tidy front garden and large windows. 

Sandor raised an eyebrow. “This is your home?”

“Home,” Sansa sighed, before turning to face Sandor. “Thank you for walking me back.”

“Don’t mention it,” he grinned. “It’s not safe for little birds to be flying around at night.”

Sansa giggled and smiled up at him, one hand on the gate. Sandor was suddenly very compelled to sweep the auburn locks off her neck, run his hand through her hair and pull her close, kissing her deeply on the lips.

He cleared his throat.

“Well, night,” Sandor said, his voice its usual growl.

Sansa looked as though she were about to say something, before simply replying. “Good night,” she said and walking up the path to her house.

Sandor shook his head as he turned away from her, running a hand across his face. However in his flustered state, Sandor failed to notice Petyr Baelish staring down at him from behind the curtains in one of the upstairs windows.

“Keep it simple,” Sandor muttered, though somewhere at the back of his mind he knew it had only gotten more complicated.


	3. Waiting in the Wings

Sandor walked down the polished wooden floor of the theatre’s backstage corridor, stepping aside to let dancers go past; frantically adjusting their hair as they went. He felt out of place wearing a simple hoodie and jeans amongst the elegant looking costumes, but it didn’t bother him. Sandor read the signs on the dressing doors as he walked along until he found the one he was looking for. He reached down and patted his pocket, making sure the tiny box was still there. When Sandor knew it was, he took a deep breath and knocked on the door.

“Come in,” a sweet voice called from inside.

Sandor opened the door and his words caught in his throat at the scene he was met with. Sansa stood in the middle of the room, warming up for the show. She wore a cream corset which framed her chest and slender waist, and a tutu made of bright white feathers. Her hair was tied back in a bun with a silver tiara on top; encrusted with blue gems, which brought out her eyes. 

At the sight of Sandor, Sansa turned to him. “You came,” she said, smiling brightly.

Sandor cleared his throat. “Thought I’d make an appearance.”

“I’m glad you did,” Sansa fiddled with one of the feathers. “I’m so frightened I’ll mess it all up.”

“You’ll be fine, little bird.”

Sansa blushed a pretty pink, but her smile faded quickly. “You had better go in case Mr Baelish comes back.”

Sandor’s heart gave a pang as he saw the fear creep into Sansa’s eyes. He reached into his pocket and brought out the box.

“Here,” he grunted.

Sansa eyed the box curiously and took it from him. Sandor hadn’t bothered to wrap it so she simply took of the lid, gasping as she did so. She brought out a simple necklace with a tiny wooden wolf pendant attached to it. Sansa held it out in front of her, smiling.

“Thank you,” she breathed. “I love it.”

“It’s to keep you safe,” Sandor said, leaning against the door frame.

Sansa smiled up at him. “Thank you, Sandor.”

Sandor’s stomach did a flip at the sound of his name on her lips. The two of them regarded each other for several moments, all the unspoken words drifting in front of them.  
“Well,” Sandor said gruffly. “Good luck.”

Sansa thanked him, and he closed the door behind him, leaning against the wall opposite her room. He closed his eyes and sighed. 

“She’ll be the death of me,” he muttered.

Sandor saw Petyr Baelish walking down the corridor towards him, his hands behind his back. He nodded curtly to Sandor before entering Sansa’s room, without knocking. Sandor saw Sansa briefly, as Baelish entered her room, clutching the wolf pendant to her chest before Petyr shut the door behind him.

Sandor’s upper lip curled into a snarl as he thought of Baelish in there with the little bird. He wanted nothing more than to take Sansa away from this place and keep her safe beside him. Though Sandor saw her as a little bird, when he saw the wolf pendant in the shop window that day, it had reminded him of Sansa. He found the notion curious, almost like déjà vu, and hoped Sansa would find some strength or peace of mind in it. If the wolf would truly keep her safe, Sandor would have bought a thousand. He didn’t want to put her in a dangerous situation by interfering, so he resolved to stay in the shadows, keeping watch over the little bird.

 

Sandor sat down for the performance, ignoring the stares from those around him. As he watched Sansa dancing, he was struck again by how natural she seemed in her white tutu and silver tiara. Sansa was timid and unsure, which was brought out in the role of the white swan; she swept beautifully across the stage, her expression a little shy as she danced with the prince. 

But upon becoming the black swan, Sansa seemed to transform. Her powerful movements, her sharp turns, her confident expression. There was something almost seductive about the way she danced as the black swan, yet she was still Sansa. She seemed so free as she twirled in the prince’s arms, was this how Sansa wanted to be? 

Sandor had to admit, the thought of Sansa looking up at him with seductive eyes made for an appealing image but he couldn’t hold the picture long, and stifled a laugh.

 

Long after the show had ended and everyone had left, Sandor sat on the steps of the theatre, following the desire to see Sansa again. The evening sky was a soft shade of pink and the smell of rain from that morning lingered in the air. Sandor watched the cars rush by as he waited for the little bird to appear.  
He heard the sound of running footsteps behind him and turned to see Sansa rushing towards him, smiling brightly. She wore a black jumper and black leggings, her backpack bouncing as she ran.

“Did you like it?” Sansa asked, breathless.

Sandor rubbed the back of his head. “Ballet’s not really my thing.”

Sansa laughed and sat down next to him, before her expression became shy. “Was I ok?” she asked, unsure.

That, Sandor was sure of. “You were great,” he said.

She hugged her knees, smiling to herself, and Sandor noticed she wore the wolf necklace around her neck. He grinned and turned away.

“I was a little afraid of performing as the black swan,” Sansa admitted.

“Why’s that?” Sandor asked.

Sansa looked out across the city. “Well, when I dance as Odette, the white swan, it’s easy; like slipping on a glove. But with the black swan, Odile, it’s like something out of my reach; something I can never be, and I’m so aware of that. She’s made up of desire and passion; she’s free,” Sansa’s voice broke slightly on the last note, and for a while she said nothing.

Sansa clutched the wolf pendant. “Growing up I was very happy. I lived in the countryside with my family; my parents, sister and brothers. I had a warm and lively childhood, but I always longed for more. I grew up reading books in my every waking moment; dreaming of worlds beyond the one at my feet. I longed for adventure, for something outside of my home. Then, one day my father was called to a nearby city on business so my sister and I accompanied him. I met a boy called Joffrey there; he seemed so gentle and kind; like the boys in my books. I thought he was my dream come true. But he wasn’t.

“He came from a powerful but manipulative family called the Lannisters who got my father caught up in their business because of the way he acted out against their crimes and he disappeared, along with my sister. That’s when Mr Baelish found me; he stole me away from there, called me Alayne and took me here. I thought he was a good man; he was so different to Joffrey. But although cruelty may wear a different mask, it will always cast the same shadow. I know that now. 

“I can never be more than the white swan; I must remain innocent and be a good girl so I will be safe. But I will never truly be free.”

They stayed silent for a long while, Sandor absorbing all that Sansa had said. It felt for the first time like he had seen completely behind her beautiful mask at the lost girl underneath. From the moment he had first lain eyes on her, Sandor had seen glimpses, but now it was as if Sansa had let the mask slide from her fingers for him.

“But I thought you were good as the black swan,” Sandor said, honestly. “What were you thinking of?”

Sansa flushed. “The wolf pendant. It sounds silly but picturing the wolf as I danced seemed to help; it gave me strength, it made me feel fierce and brave,” she giggled, embarrassed. “But, of course, it wore off. I’m no wolf.” 

“But you know, Sansa, you are free,” Sandor said, his voice its usual growl. “You can do what you want.”

Sansa looked up at him with those hopeful eyes, as she had done during that first conversation, but her hand dropped from the wolf pendant and she leaned her head against his shoulder.

“Maybe someday,” she whispered.

Sandor heard the sound of footsteps coming from the theatre and Petyr Baelish stood behind them. At his approach, Sansa jumped back from Sandor, bringing her arms to her knees once more.

“Clegane,” Baelish said with a fixed smile. “Might I have a word in private?”

“Sure,” Sandor grunted, and stood up.

But Sansa looked up at Baelish with fearful eyes. “Petyr, please,” she murmured.

“Sweet Alayne,” Baelish said in a honey-soaked voice. “Always so concerned about others. You needn’t fret, my darling, we’re just going to have a little chat.”

Sandor followed Petyr away from Sansa to just outside the theatre. Petyr Baelish was a short man with grey eyes and a neatly trimmed moustache and goatee. He clasped his hands together and smiled at Sandor.

“It has come to my attention that you have become rather acquainted with my little Alayne,” Baelish said.

Sandor didn’t reply, simply observing Baelish with cool, dark eyes.

Baelish continued. “She has not spoken of you directly, yet I know very well of your budding friendship with her. A man such as yourself... would not make a good companion for my little girl, I’m sure you understand,” he paused. “You were at the show this evening, quite beautiful wasn’t she? My little Alayne,” he stopped once more, eyes full of desire, making Sandor frown. 

“I’m sure you agree that, for her sake, you must stay away. There will be consequences if you do not,” Baelish’s expression grew cold.

Sandor knew, from working for him, that Petyr Baelish was a powerful and cunning man.

But Sandor Clegane had never had much regard for others.

He stepped towards Baelish, looming over him. “Well guess what,” Sandor growled. “You can fuck your consequences; if she doesn’t want me around she can just say so.”

Petyr did not react to Sandor’s threat, stretching his smile back out. “I’m sure she will.”

The way he said that filled Sandor with dread; Baelish would never harm Sansa, would he?

“If you lay one finger on that girl...” Sandor snarled.

“I would never dream if harming my sweet Alayne,” Baelish grinned.

Sandor was beginning to hate that smile.

“Well,” Petyr clapped his hands together. “I must be off; Alayne must be tired after today.”

He swept past Sandor towards Sansa, who looked anxiously back. Petyr lead Sansa to his car and got into the driver’s seat. Sansa turned to get into the passenger’s seat, but stopped and gave a little wave to Sandor, clutching her wolf pendant tightly.


	4. Black and White

Sandor sat on the sofa in his flat, a beer in hand as he stared at the TV screen with disinterest. He had been worrying over Sansa for days now, that look Petyr Baelish had given him sticking in his mind; his menacing smile grinning over Sandor throughout his every waking moment. Sandor clung to the hope that despite Baelish’s warnings, he would never actually harm Sansa. 

Although Sandor had said he wouldn’t leave Sansa alone, unless she asked, he had been thinking that perhaps it would be best to simply leave town; it would keep Sansa safe at least. But the thought felt like a knife searing through Sandor’s heart and he knew he couldn’t go leaving her all alone. He wanted her here, beside him, knowing she was safe.  
He rubbed his temples and took a sip of his beer, wiping his mouth on the back of his hand. Suddenly there was a quick knock at the door. Sandor frowned and looked at the clock showing it was midnight. He didn’t usually get visitors, especially at this hour. The knock came again, only more insistent.

“Alright,” Sandor growled, marching towards the door, beer still in hand.

He yanked the door open and looked down with surprise to see Sansa stood there, her face turned away, gaze on the floor. She was trembling.

“Are you-” but he was cut off by Sansa turning to look at him, revealing a large purple bruise on her cheek.

Anger seized Sandor by the neck and felt his face screw up in rage. He roared and sent the bottle of beer flying at the wall, smashing it into tiny pieces. 

_‘How dare he touch her,’_ he thought. _‘How dare he hurt her.’_

Anger still seeping through his veins, Sandor turned on Sansa, desperate to hear how it had happened. But Sansa had backed away from the door, her hands clutched around her wolf necklace; her blue eyes alight with fear.

Sandor softened immediately at the sight. He took a deep breath.

“Sorry if I scared you, I-” he had reached out his hand towards Sansa, but she flinched away.

Sandor sighed. “Sansa, I’m not going to hurt you.”

She stared up at him carefully, weighing something up in her mind. Eventually she dropped her hands from the pendant and stepped past Sandor into the flat. He turned to her, closing the door behind Sansa.

“I wasn’t there to protect you,” he said, angry at himself.

Sansa studied him for a moment before replying slowly, “this was never _your_ fight.”

Despite Sansa’s reply, Sandor was still annoyed that he couldn’t stop her from getting hurt, although he could understand that perhaps Sansa wanted to now stand on her own two feet, and use them to run from the man she had always feared.

“So,” Sandor began, trying to keep his anger under control, feeling it bubbling under the surface. “How did it happen?”

Sansa looked up at him triumphantly. “I said no,” she stated, before her face crumbled and she burst into tears.

Sandor stared at her, unsure of what to do, before drawing her close to him; feeling her sobs wrack her delicate body. He leaned his chin on her head, her hair tickle his chin.

“You’re alright now,” he murmured.

Eventually the sobs subsided, and Sandor held Sansa at arms length.

“What are you going to do?” He asked.

She sniffed and shrugged. They didn’t speak for several moments, the flat silence.

“Do you want a drink?” Sandor asked.

Sansa nodded and Sandor went into the kitchen, grabbing a can of coke from the fridge. He thought about clearing up the smashed bottle but it could wait.

He walked back into the hallway and saw Sansa stood on the balcony connected to his living room. The white curtains were fluttering in the night air, Sansa’s hair doing the same.

She wore a simply white t-shirt and black jeans, but she had nothing else with her.

Sandor walked through and stood beside her, looking out across the city lights.

“It’s beautiful up here,” Sansa sighed.

“Perfect for little birds,” Sandor replied.

Sansa laughed and he found himself relaxing slightly at the sound; it meant she was beginning to recover, if only ever so slightly.

“I won’t be able to stay here though,” Sansa said.

Sandor didn’t reply, he didn’t need to; Baelish had powerful contacts throughout the city who could drag her back to him, she was no longer safe here.

“Where would you go?” Sandor asked.

“I’ll try and find the rest of my family, Mr Baelish said-,” she broke off, sudden emotion filling her voice. “Mr Baelish said my house was burnt down; he said it was an accident but I don’t believe it. Not anymore.”

“Do you know where they might be?”

Sansa shook her head, a tear rolling down her cheek.

The thought of leaving Sansa all by herself in the city, while she was in danger, made Sandor’s heart race with fear. He couldn’t just abandon her. That fear drove him to say the next words that came out of his mouth.

“What if I came with you?” Sandor said, slowly.

Sansa stared at him, wide eyed. “What about your job? Your home?”

Sandor snorted. “I don’t think my job exists anymore, and this is just a building; there’s plenty more of those around.”

Sansa stared at him for a few more moments. “Do you mean it?”

“I do,” he said, in his low voice.

Sandor noticed she was shivering slightly from the cold so he took off his hoodie and wrapped it round her shoulders, holding her there. She smiled up at him, her bright blue eyes gleaming like the night sky above. Sandor was suddenly overwhelmed by the urge to kiss her then; but with the bruise and all that she had been through, he didn’t want to hurt her. Besides, he would probably just scare her.

The desire to kiss her built up inside Sandor further still, and he rested his forehead against hers, resisting it, and inhaled her sweet scent. Sansa closed her eyes.

“You know,” Sandor murmured. “I think you’re both.”

Sandor felt Sansa frown. “What do you mean?”

“You’re both swans,” he elaborated. “White _and_ black.”

Sansa pulled away from him and looked up, confused. 

Sandor grinned. “Well look; you stood up to Petyr Baelish; you told him no, that doesn’t sound like a little white swan thing to do.”

“I wonder if I could be both,” Sansa murmured. Then her eyes took on a playful gleam. “You would be Odile.”

Sandor scowled. “A swan?”

Sansa laughed. “I suppose not. Well then, a dog?”

“I do like dogs,” Sandor said, thoughtfully. “They’re loyal.”

Sansa giggled. “A dog suits you, and I think you’re right about me being a little bird.”

“But that wolf...” Sandor trailed off.

Sansa looked into the distance. “I know. It feels almost like a memory; silly...”

Sandor watched as her expression become melancholic and far away. Not wishing to see Sansa like that, he reached out and ruffled her hair. She squealed and attempted to bat his hand away; she looked up at him and puffed out her cheeks; then she reached up to try and do the same to Sandor, stretching her arms out as far as they could go. He chuckled, knowing his height made his hair way out of Sansa’s reach.

“Guess there’s some heights even little birds can’t reach,” he rasped with a grin.

Sansa retreated with a frustrated huff and opened her can of Coke. She brought it to her lips but let out a surprised noise as it dripped down her chin and landed on her top. She hurriedly put the can down and began wiping at her top.

Sandor laughed and stepped in front of her. He wiped at Sansa’s chin delicately with his rough thumb, slightly stroking her bottom lip with his thumb’s tip. 

“I’m glad you’re here,” Sandor said, his voice low.

Sansa smiled up at him softly. “Me too,” she murmured.

Her blue eyes lowered to Sandor’s lips for several moments, her own slightly parted. The urge to kiss her overwhelmed Sandor once more and he knew he shouldn’t, he knew, and yet all the same his hands brushed back into her hair and Sandor leaned in to Sansa, kissing her with all the complicated emotions flooding his veins in that moment. He broke off, frowning, keeping his lips near hers yet pushing down the thought of kissing her once more.

“Sorry,” he murmured, his voice thick with emotion.

“Why are you apologising?” Sansa said quietly.

“For kissing you,” Sandor replied, frustrated. “Especially after today and all that’s happened.”

Sansa didn’t say anything for a while and Sandor kept his forehead pressed against hers, unable to tear himself away from the sound of her close breathing and the view of her lips and freckles on her cheeks. Sansa delicately brought her hands to Sandor’s cheeks, looking into his dark eyes.

“Today was hard,” Sansa admitted. “But somehow, you managed to turn the worst of days into the best.” And with that, she brought his lips onto hers once more, kissing him gently. 

Sandor felt her blossom sweetly under his lips and he relished in the feel of her innocent press against him, unable to believe that she reciprocated his feelings. Part of him was still reluctant, unsure whether he was doing the right thing, but the thought was disappearing more and more with each kiss Sansa gave him. He decided to trust her. After all, the world is not as simple as black and white.

_‘Perhaps I needed the darkness to find the light,’_ Sansa thought, as she lost herself in the reassuring feeling of Sandor’s hands on her shoulders. _‘Perhaps I needed to become Odile as well as Odette in order to find the Sansa inbetween.’_

The two of them reluctantly parted lips for a moment, keeping them touching. Ever so gently, Sandor stroked Sansa’s bruised cheek with his thumb.

“I’ll follow you wherever you wish to go,” Sandor muttered into her lips.

Sansa grinned at him, a small tear trickling down her cheek.

“What’s wrong?” Sandor asked.

Sansa shook her head. “Thank you,” she whispered.

“I will keep you safe,” Sandor vowed, as Sansa’s tear dissolved into Sandor’s dark stubble, washing it away.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ah, this will be the last fanfiction in quite a while I think. I found it hard to find the time to write at university and it will be even harder once my course gets under way. This is not the end, however, I love writing and I will continue to pursue it, even if it takes a while to come back.
> 
> Thank you for all the kind support I've received, it has truly meant the world to me.


End file.
